


spinning bottles

by bookishgypsy



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishgypsy/pseuds/bookishgypsy
Summary: Fallon turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms after an unexpected medical diagnosis.
Relationships: Fallon Carrington/Liam Ridley
Comments: 26
Kudos: 83





	1. one down, two down, three down, four

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is kind of on the darker side. I don't know what happened. Enjoy regardless?

She brings the door of her crimson red Porsche in with her as she slides into the drivers side, closing it behind her as she settles into the seat, letting the conversation she just had with her gynecologist settle and replay over and over and over again. She tries to process all the words she just heard flown at her, but it’s hard to let them fully sink in and rationalize any of it.

_“It’s adenomyosis.”_

_“What?” She asks gently, softly, unsure if she wants to hear the proper diagnosis detailed out for her; afraid she was about to hear the worst of the worst possible outcomes she’d already drilled into her head before this appointment. “What does that mean exactly?”_

_“So, essentially, adenomyosis is a condition that causes the inner lining of your uterus to break through into the muscle wall of your uterus,” Doctor Scorpio explains carefully, although the words still sound like gibberish to her. “It explains the cramping you’ve been having and the pain you’ve been experiencing during sex.”_

_“Okay, so what does that mean exactly? What do I do? Do I need to do anything?”_

_“It means the more than usual cramping may continue, but an Ibuprofen should help with the pain when and if continues for you,” the petite brunette says. “I’ve no doubt that a simple anti-inflammatory will help you based on what I saw in your MRI scans, so I don’t think any other action is needed from you at this time.”_

_“And that’s it?”_

_“That’s it, unfortunately. There’s nothing more we can do with this condition than just let it exist,” she tells her. “There is one thing you should be made aware of with this condition, Mrs. Ridley.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Adenomyosis can make it more difficult in achieving pregnancy,” Doctor Scorpio’s words stop short and Fallon feels her heart sink in her chest. “It’s not impossible and I’ve known most of my patients to have little to no issues in doing so,” she pauses again and Fallon really wishes she’d just get to the punch. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it could be a difficult road for you should you find yourself trying with your husband. But, if you two get to that point and have an issue, you can come back to me and we’ll set you up with a fertilely expert and find the best path for you two, okay?”_

_“So, I might not be able to have children one day?”_

_She’s immediately pulled back to four years ago, back to when she was living at La Mirage and they had their first blowout on the topic of children. That he didn’t want them. And sure, it crushed her heart but she understood his reasoning, and she one hundred percent meant what she said when she’d rather have him and no kids than have kids with anyone else. But being told she might not even have the option to make that choice herself? It hits different and she feels like that decision has been ripped away from her in the blink of an eye._

_“It’s possible that you may not be able to, yes,” the tiny brunette doctor nods. “I’m not trying to scare you here, I’m just trying to lay out the facts for you. It’s my job to lay out these facts for you fully. But, it’s not a lost cause, Fallon. It’s completely possible and very likely you will still be able to get pregnant all on your own.”_

_“No, it’s fine,” she grabs her purse and stands up, ready to leave and call an end to this day now. “My husband doesn’t want kids anyways, he’ll be thrilled.”_

She stairs straight ahead at the sky that seemed to stretch out forever in front of her as the words wash over her like rain. The one choice that she, as a woman, should be able to make on her own accord, was ripped away from her because of some medical condition she had no control over. 

It just didn’t seem fair.

She shakes her head, trying to will everything she just heard flown at her away into the back of her mind. She pushes her foot against the brake before switching the automatic gear shift into drive, slowly pushing her foot against the accelerator as she drives into the bright, cloudless, sunny day. 

* * *

Fallon finds herself back at their home less than a half hour later, happy she lived in such close proximity to downtown and all the medical buildings, because she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able focus on driving any longer than she had. She dug into her work immediately, choosing to work the rest of the day in her home rather than head into the office. She wasn’t ready to be bombarded with stupid questions by her employees when she could barely focus on the thing right in front of her at the moment. 

The only thing she could think of is that dumb medical term that was floating around in her head, haunting her like a bad dream. That kind of dream that would startle you awake in the middle of the night, but when you woke up and closed your eyes once more, you were only to be tormented by the same image that woke up in the first place. 

Because as soon as she thought she forgot about everything she was just told by her physician, it was right back again, swirling at the absolute forefront of her mind.

Everything in her mind tells her _not_ to do it….but she finds herself on Google regardless, typing the term into the search bar and watching all the results pop up right before her blue eyes. She finds a site where women share their stories and complications from the condition. Women who’ve carried to term as if there was nothing wrong with them to begin with, women who struggled to conceive but with the help of IVF had to issue carrying a pregnancy to term, and women who miscarried time and time again and gave up on their wish to be a mom.

She closes the MacBook shut on her white desk after reading what feels like the hundredth story about women who aren’t able to conceive or carry to term and finds herself wandering down to the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator door and sees the half empty bottle of Rosé staring back at her, beckoning her to give in and poor a glass, reminding her that enough alcohol in her bloodstream would make her numb enough to how she’s feeling currently. And although everything in her tells her it’s not the right thing to do, that drinking away your feelings isn’t how to make them go away, she pulls out the wine glass regardless, filling it to the rim of her favorite glass and letting the smooth liquid slide down her throat in one simple gulp.

And before she even realizes it, the Rosé in her glass runs dry and so does the bottle, and she finds herself reaching for a second bottle already chilled in the refrigerator….

* * *

Liam stumbles through their double doors after his day packed of meetings with his publishing company about his next novel, (his second round of edits were due in just a week but he wasn’t seeing eye to eye with his editor on a few certain things) which were cut short after he received a call ( _several_ calls) from Fallon’s assistant, Allison. She’d responded in a panic asking him if he’d heard from his wife at all throughout the day, as it was nearing 3pm and she hadn’t heard from her boss in over three hours, which was freaking her out considering Fallon missed a conference call with their biggest client and that _that_ was completely out of character for her and she just wanted to make sure Fallon was _okay_. 

He hadn’t, of course, heard from his wife, as the last time he did hear from her, was earlier that day when she’d kissed him goodbye and told him she was heading to the office. So, it came as a shock to him as well to hear she hadn’t been at work at all today. Which had then turned _him_ into a bottle of worry. He’d excused himself from his meetings, his editor and literary agent more than understanding of the family matter at hand, and then he’d headed off to the place they’d been calling home for the last five years. 

He’s relieved to pull into their driveway and find her red vehicle sitting idle in her normal position, but it worries him more to know she had left that morning…it makes him wonder…where did she go if she hadn’t gone to work?

“Fallon?”

It’s not her voice that he’s met with, but rather the sound of glass shattering against the floor from the direction of their kitchen.

“Son of a bitch!”

He walks into their vastly lit kitchen and finds her picking up small pieces of glass on the floor. He immediately falls to her side to push her delicate hands away from the broken glass. “Hey, hey, hey. Just leave it, okay? I’ll get Karen to come in and clean this, okay?”

Liam grabs on to her hands and pulls her up with him, ushering her over to the small table off to the corner, where he finally notices the empty wine bottle sitting pretty against the glass tabletop. His eyes trail backwards to the mess he just left, realizing it was in fact the bottle of Rosé she’d started drinking last night during dinner. That’s when he finally gets a good look at her - the slumped appearance, the glossy eyes, the unfocused gaze in her eyes as she finds it hard to focus in on him. 

“Are you drunk?” Liam looks at her carefully, her eyes finally zoned in on his and he doesn’t even need her to answer him to know it’s the truth. “At three in the afternoon?”

“What?” The laugh that bellows with the word tells him otherwise. “No.”

“Fallon,” he says calmly, but still challenging her denial nonetheless. 

“Okay, fine, maybe a little.”

It’s not an oddity for his wife to have a glass of wine mid-day, in fact, it happened quite frequently. It’s not like it was his favorite thing she’d become accustomed to, but he’d accepted it was just apart of her lifestyle and the way she’d been raised. But two empty bottles of wine was a far cry from the glass of wine that would just help ease some of the stress of her CEO duties.

“Can I ask what the occasion is?”

“Just my life falling to pieces.” Her hands flail above her head dramatically. “Again.”

He feels his heart sink at her words, because even if she thought she was doing a good job at lying, she wasn’t. And the words she just uttered softly only prove how right he is. “What?”

“Nothing, Liam. I just wanted a goddamned drink,” she huffs loudly. She stands up and walks off in the direction of the living room behind their kitchen. “God, is there anything wrong with that?”

“A drink? No,” he says firmly. “Two bottles? Yeah.”

“So, I got a little carried away,” she shrugs, a small giggle eliciting out of her, that giggle he only hears when the alcohol in her system is excessive. “It happens.”

“I’m also wondering why you told me you were going to work this morning when Allison called me in absolute panic not too long ago asking if you were okay cause you hadn’t bothered to show up to the office today,” he pauses there, watching the expression in her face to see if leads him to any reasonable explanation - but it doesn’t, she’s damned good at hiding her emotions and she’s even better at it when she’s not completely sober. “And that you hadn’t answered her calls since earlier this morning.”

“I just wasn’t really feeling it today, Liam.”

“That’s not like you,” his voice is calm when he speaks, even if inside he just wants to get right to the bottom of whatever is bothering her. He just knows he won’t get anywhere if he badgers her incessantly, it’ll only make her build her walls further and shut herself down completely. So, he’s fine with playing it cool, even if he knew something was absolutely tearing her apart inside. “Especially when your biggest client is scheduled for a conference call with you and you don’t even bother to show up.”

“That was today?” Her blue eyes widen, sobering her up a small amount with his statement. “Shit.”

“What is going on, Fal?” He reaches his hand over to her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her left ear, cupping her cheek with the same hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb. “This isn’t you.”

Her eyes fall to the ground, looking anywhere but at him. She pulls her hand up and wipes away at the tear that doesn’t even fall from her eyes. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, babe.” He uses his thumb to push her chin up gently so her eyes meet his. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know.” The sadness and brokenness tone that escapes her lips nearly breaks him in two. “I just had an off day.”

“You should have called me, Fal.”

Her head shakes from left to right, as he pulls her into him against their sofa; her head leaning easily against his chest as he tucks her under the crevice of his arm. “But you had all your meetings today and I didn’t want to disturb that.”

“You can always call me if you need me,” he says while he hand runs up and down her bare arm.

“Yeah, but they were important meetings.”

“You’re more important to me than those meetings, okay? Always,” he says as she pushes herself a little further into his side. “I’m here if you need to talk, okay? You don’t need to go through whatever you’re going through alone.”

* * *

She isn’t sure how she made it through her entire day without any alcohol in her system, considering since the moment she woke up that morning was craving that absolute numbness she succumbed to yesterday afternoon. That feeling she was experiencing before Liam stormed in and put an end to everything. She couldn’t blame him though, she knew she wasn’t coping correctly, but it still didn’t stop the little voice in her mind that told her it was the only way to make it through this ordeal. 

She pulls one of the nips she just bought at the liquor store, the golden color of the whiskey burning as it slides easily down her throat. It’s an immediate relief, an instant calm washing over her as she leaves the empty bottle in her glove compartment before stepping out the driver’s side door and making her way into the brightly lit foyer of the place they called home. 

He calls out for her the second she closes the French doors, “Fallon?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she says slipping her shoes off her feet, instant relief for her feet that’d been stuck in four inch heels for the past ten hours. He finds her in the foyer as she’s dropping her bag to the ground, coming up close to her and pressing his lips against her cheek. “Hey.”

“You reek of alcohol, Fallon,” he says, keeping his mouth close to her as he takes another whiff of her. “Please tell me you’re not drinking again like yesterday.”

“No,” she lets the lie slip off her tongue so easily it scares her, the fact that she’s lying straight to the face of the one person who’d never given up on her. She just can’t bring herself to tell him the truth; afraid of his reaction, scared to see him happy about her inability to conceive a child, that it wouldn’t have to be a conversation they had ever again. “No, babe. Allison and I just had a quick drink to celebrate a new client at work. We didn’t even finish our glasses.”

“Okay.” She allows herself to lean into his warm and comforting embrace, the scent of his Dolce and Gabbana cologne bringing her an instantaneous since of peace. “Congrats on that, then, babe. I’m so proud of you.”

He spins away from her, tugging at her hand and pulling her into the direction of their dining room. She feels cheap at his words, considering every word she just uttered was a complete and total fabrication. “Th…thanks.”

“So, I know you had a stressful day yesterday,” he starts as they round the corner. She looks at the table, the two white plates filled with one of her favorite meals plated on them - lasagna with Liam’s homemade tomato sauce. “And I thought I’d try to counter that a little so, for starters, I made you your favorite meal. Well, one of them.”

“You didn’t have to do this, Liam.”

“I know, but you were so unhappy yesterday.” He slides her chair our for her before she sits, then pushes her back in slightly. “I just wanted you to know that I love you and you can talk to me when things are getting out of control. You don’t need to let it get to that point, okay? I’m here for you.”

After they finish their meal, he surprises her even further - because of _course_ he did. She really hit the jackpot with this man; someone who loves and accepts her as is and goes to all these measures to make sure she knows she’s loved - even when she’s lying straight to his face in the process.

He guides her to their ensuite, to find their stark white porcelain tub filled to the brim with steaming hot water and rose scented bubbles. There’s candles scattered over the floor, their shimmery blaze illuminating the room and their reflection shining against the white tiles that line the room. There’s rose petals scattered around the floor laying in no particular pattern, just an added level of ambiance to the scene her husband’s created for her. 

And she doesn’t even deserve it.

Not in the slightest.

“Liam,” she breathes.

“I thought this could help you feel better, too,” he smiles, tugging at their joined hands.

“You didn’t need to go to all these lengths, Liam.”

“You’re my wife, Fallon,” he says. “Of course I did.”

She pushes herself up on her toes to push her lips against his. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I love you,” he says as if it’s the only explanation he needs to do these things for her. And maybe it is. “Shall we?”

She nods as both their clothes fall to the floor, pushed off into the corner in a small pile. She follows him after he sinks into the steaming water, lifting her feet over the ledge and letting herself settle against his chest. Their hands tangle together under the ripples, finding the weight of them settling against her bare stomach. 

“I love you, too."

When the water runs cold and they steps out, Fallon finds a pair of light pajama pants to wear along with a black tank top and Liam finds comfort in only putting on a fresh pair of boxers. She curls up on their king sized mattress before he does, laying flat against the comforter before she feels his weight shift on the opposite end. 

She feels Liam lean further into her side before she looks over and catches his eyes hovering over her; before she knows it his lips are on hers, applying a gentle amount of pressure as their lips move in a steady rhythm against each other. 

The weight of his chest falls against her own, and when he pushes he tongue against her lips she easily allows him access, their muscles fighting for control of the situation. His lips against hers mixed with everything else he’s done for her that evening is enough to almost make her forget about everything she’d been through in the past 48 hours, that is, until she feels his hand slip beneath the waistband of her light blue pajama pants when the reality of her life comes back in full force.

Because she _does_ have this stupid condition and painful sex was one of her first dead giveaways that something was wrong in the first place. And then all she sees is flashes of her internet search from yesterday, of all those women who never got the choice to have children and had that ripped away from them - and now it was being ripped out from under her, too.

“Stop,” she pushes him against his shoulders, up and off of her. “Stop, stop, stop.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she says back to him. “I’m just not in the mood for sex, Liam.”

“You haven’t been in the mood for the last two weeks, Fal,” he falls against his pillow beside her, still reaching his hand out to twirl his fingers through her hair. “Fallon, are you sure everything is okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Liam. I’m just tired. Work’s been exhausting and it’s just really catching up with me, lately,” she says. She reaches up to grasp on to his hand still tangled in her soft curls, gripping on to him tightly, trying to remind herself that he was right here with her and he wasn’t going anywhere. “Can we just go to bed?”

He leans in closer to her to press his lips against the crown of her head. “Of course, babe.”

She falls against his side, listening to his breathing even out in minutes as she lies awake feeling like shit for letting him treat her like there’s no one in the world but her while she continues to keep this huge secret from him, even when he most definitely deserved to know.

And she _hates_ that she only has one thought circulating in her head.

She really just wants a fucking drink. 

* * *

Liam stumbles into the Fallon Unlimited offices that cool, rainy morning, being greeted by Allison’s always welcoming smile as he turns the corner to meet with his wife.

“Liam,” she smiles brightly. “Haven’t seen you around here in a few days, now. How are you?”

“Hey, Allison,” he stumbles into the usually sunlit space, light now being provided from the lightbulbs hanging from above. “Things are good, but busy. Which is why I’m here. Is it a good time or,” he nods to the back where he can see Fallon out of the corner of his eyes. “Is she gonna kill me?”

“No, she’s always happy to see you.”

“Is that my husband I hear?” 

“It might be,” he raises his voice a little so she hears him from her desk before turning back to Allison. “Good to see you, Allison.”

His feet find him at her side, pressing a kiss against the side of her face, and she stands immediately to wrap her arms around his core. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Ridley?”

“Can’t a guy just come and visit his wife because he loves and misses her?”

“He sure can,” she smiles leaning up, capturing his bottom lip in a quick peck. “But, I also know you better than that and I can see it in your eyes that somethings up and you’re here for a reason. So, what’s up?”

“It appears things are moving a little faster than expected with the book and they’ve moved my release day up by three weeks,” he says. “They need me in New York for the next few days for some final details.”

Her head falls against his chest, her left ear settled right above his beating heart. “You can’t just do it over video chat?”

“Unfortunately we’ve reached the point where my virtual meetings are null and void and they need to do the last few things face to face.”

“So, how long are you gone for?” He feels her arms tighten around him, only prompting him to pull her in closer against him. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m hopping on a flight later this afternoon,” he says softly into her hair. “And I’ll be back first thing Thursday morning.”

“Okay, well, if you must,” she sighs. “Go do what you’ve gotta do.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” She pulls back from him, leaning up slightly to look him in the eyes, her blue eyes boring right into his, the prettiest shade of blue he swears he’s ever seen. “I was hoping I could maybe steal you for an hour and take you out for lunch though.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Ridley,” she teases. “I’m very busy.”

“Even too busy for your husband?”

“I suppose I could make some time for him.” He watches as she ponders the lunch date in her head. “When is he coming in to see me?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he mutters. “So, is that a yes?”

“Sure, let me grab my bag.” She bends her knees to pick her bag up from underneath her wooden desk, sliding it over her shoulders before taking his hand and tangling their fingers. “Allison, I’m leaving for lunch. Don’t bother me with stupidity for at least an hour.”

* * *

As much as she hated when her husband left town, she couldn’t deny the perfection in the timing for this trip. It gave her time to think, rearrange, figure out how to get her fix in without him becoming aware of what she was doing to herself. He’d put an immediate end to it all and all she needed right now was to feel sorry for herself and numb herself in the pain. 

And if she knew her husband like she think she did, he’d turn it into something positive and she’s not sure how her ability to have a child is anything positive. Because that was Liam’s nature, to take something that made you feel like there was no hope and find the silver lining, because he said there was _always_ a silver lining.

For starters, she’d stored a stash of nips in their ensuite, along with a full sized bottle of scotch. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it would be there for her in the morning if she needed it, and it was something she had easy access to at night, as well. They were rarely in their bathroom side by side, so she pats herself on the back for thinking that one up, because he’d never think to look in her drawer full of her own belongings. He had his own stuffed with his own toiletries, he had no reason to go into hers. 

Not that she had to worry about that for the next few days, considering her husband was meeting with all the people on his team at Harper Collins at their headquarters in New York City.

She was just…thinking ahead. Yeah, that’s what she was doing. 

She’d also accustomed herself to waking up thirty minutes before she normally would allow herself to crawl out from under her sheets. She’d figured that waking up at 6am instead of 6:30am really wouldn’t raise such a red flag with anyone. She’d head to the kitchen and grab a mug of freshly brewed coffee, brewed by Karen of course, stirring in her cream and sugar before grabbing the bottle of expensive Macallan out of the stainless steel cooler. 

She’d take her favorite shot glass and fill it to the brim, knocking that back into the steaming hot liquid before filling the tiny glass up once more and letting the burning sensation fill her throat. It wasn’t a seamless plan, but she was pretty confident in herself that it was coy enough for Liam not to question why she was waking up slightly earlier. She was an early riser anyways, he was sure to buy it. 

“Mrs. Ridley?”

“Jesus Christ, Karen,” she jumps back, startled by the voice that beckons her from her inner monologue. “You scared me half to death.”

“Apologizes, my dear.”

She looks at Karen, the sweet older lady who’d been with her and Liam since the day they moved into this giant house, tending to their every need without hesitation, and notices her looking her up and down. How the grey-haired lady’s eyes were zoned in on the half empty bottle of whiskey that was still settled by the cap between two of her fingers. 

“This…this isn’t what it looks like.”

The sweet and innocent voice she knows from the woman turns cold and accusing, but it’s still gentle all the same, just like she was used to hearing. “What exactly should this look like, Mrs. Ridley?”

Fallon allows herself to open the fridge and put the bottle back on its rightful shelf. “Karen…”

“This is the third morning in a row that I’ve seen you put a shot of whiskey in your coffee before swigging one back straight, Mrs. Ridley,” Karen says, calmly, almost motherly, and it cuts her to the core because she knows she’s not behaving rationally - she just can’t help it. 

Not when the alcohol did such a good job at numbing herself from the pain. 

“Karen, _please,_ ” her voice elicits a small cry, panic settling in at the prospect of Liam finding out about her drinking habits as of late. “You can’t tell Liam about this. Please. He….he’ll…he won’t handle this well, Karen. Please, promise me you won’t tell my husband.”

“Mrs. Ridley,” she starts. Fallon can tell from the way her eyes wander to everywhere but _her_ that she was already thinking of letting her husband in on her dirty secret and that was something that _couldn’t_ happen. 

“Karen, please. I promise. I have this all under control,” she says. “Works just been so stressful and this just helps me take the edge off before I get into the office and get bombarded with emails and questions and meetings. _Please,_ Karen,” she begs. “Liam already knows I’m stressed and if he knew I was even more stressed than he thought he would pack his bags up and leave New York City and he _needs_ to finish up those meetings.”

“Okay, Mrs. Ridley, okay,” she says softly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell him anything. Your secret is safe with me.”

* * *

He _swears_ he hears his phone ringing in the distance.

His eyes groggily open to the loud ring that echos through his hotel room, feeling around his bed for the phone he knew was laying around close by. It’s still pitch black in his room, so he figures it must be early morning still, even though he had no way to tell until he got a good look at a clock. 

He feels an immediate panic rush through him when he sees its their housekeeper, Karen, calling him at 6:20am in the morning. He slides to accept the call right away, the worst of all outcomes flying through his head at lightning speed. “Karen? Is everything okay? Is my wife okay?”

“You’re wife is fine, Mr. Ridley,” she says quickly, instantly allowing him to breathe out all the air he’d sucked in and had been holding. “Physically, at least. Mentally….I’m worried, Mr, Ridley.”

“What is it, Karen?”

“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries here, Mr. Ridley,” Karen says quietly.

“You’re like family, Karen, you know that,” he says, biting his tongue preparing for what she was about to tell him. “It’s not overstepping if you think something’s wrong.”

“I’m worried there might be something very wrong, Mr. Ridley.”

He runs his hand through his hair, a simple action he usually did when stressed or worried. “What’s going on Karen?”

“Your wife has woken up the last three days and spiked her coffee with a shot of whiskey,”

He feels his heart sink in his chest at her words. The image of Fallon waking up in the morning to spike her coffee with whiskey breaks him into pieces. It wasn’t unusual for Fallon to drink more than the average person, but her adding a dark spirit to her drink that early in the morning was enough to really stir something in him. 

“What?”

“And before she even puts the bottle away, she makes sure to take a straight shot of whiskey.”

He sits still on the line, unable to form words to even respond to Karen. It’s enough of a bombshell for him to know she’s been lying straight to his face for the last three days, and that she’s done a damn good job at it, too. He’s wondering now if she’d been sober once in their times together before he left for New York. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that, because the thought of her drowning away her pain with whiskey is already bringing tears to his eyes. He knew one thing though, he was sure as hell gonna find out what the hell she was hiding and what was going on. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ridley, I just thought you should know,” Karen says calmly. “She’s been drinking more than usual and I thought something might be really wrong and I just wanted you to be aware of it, it you weren’t already.”

“No, I knew she was acting weird but I tried to trust her when she said it was stress from work,” he mutters under his breath. “I should have trusted my instinct that something was off in the first place.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Mr. Ridley. She’s hiding it very well,” Karen replies. “I confronted her about it this morning and she was definitely panicking.”

“You confronted her?”

“I couldn’t sit idle by and watch your wife do that herself.”

“And how did she take it?” Liam finally sits himself up on his hotel bed, looking around his room for his belongings - he wasn’t staying in New York any longer now. “Other than the panic.”

“Mostly she was panicking about you finding out,” she says into his ear. “She made me swear I wouldn’t tell and that it was all because of work, but I knew better.”

He holds his iPhone between his ear and his shoulder, slipping some jeans on over his legs. “Karen, do me a favor?”

“Of course, Mr. Ridley.”

“I’m gonna hop on the next flight back to Atlanta,” he says. “Don’t let her know I’m on my way in.”

* * *

When Karen finally leaves her by her lonesome in the kitchen, she feels a jittery feeling return to her, her hands can’t stop shaking and she feels like she just can’t _sit still._ Just like how she felt earlier that morning when she'd woken up, except now it felt worse, more intense.

Suddenly the shot in her cup of coffee doesn’t seem like enough to get her through the day. 

And who was Karen to sit there and stare at her and judge her anyways? She had _no_ idea what she was going through right now, she had no clue what she was dealing with at all. Liam didn’t want kids anyways and then to be told that she _can’t_ have children felt like a giant slap to her face, red and burning, reminding her that it just wasn’t going to happen for her. 

By Liam’s accord or apparently her own body. 

_“It’s adenomyosis,”_ she hears the voice in her head say. 

_“So, essentially, adenomyosis is a condition that causes the inner lining of your uterus to break through into the muscle wall of your uterus,” Doctor Scorpio explains carefully, although the words still sound like gibberish to her. “It explains the cramping you’ve been having and the pain you’ve been experiencing during sex.”_

_“Adenomyosis can make it more difficult in achieving pregnancy,”_ she hears the words like she’s right back in that brightly lit, overdone doctors office, the words crystal clear and sharp and cutting to her all at the same time. 

_“Mrs. Ridley, it is still possibly for you to achieve pregnancy, though,” Doctor Scorpio explains. “And yes, while it can complicate things, most women, 94% of my patients with this condition in fact, have been able to conceive and carry to term with little to problem.”_

_She hears her gynecologist loud and clear - that sure, it’s possible to have kids but for some reason all she hears is: no kids, no kids, no kids._

She picks up the white ceramic mug, letting her coffee pour down the drain. She then pulls the refrigerator doors open once more, grabbing that bottle of Macallan into her grip once again; she pops open the cap again and guides the top of the bottle to her lips, sucking back the dark amber brown liquid as it slides down her throat like honey, but stings like a bee inside her. 

It was only a matter of time before something like this went wrong in her life. 

She’d spent her _entire_ life living amongst small percentages. 

She was born with a silver spoon in her hand, living her past thirty years on this Earth in the top one percentile, she’d become a billionaire by the age of twenty, and she was the CEO of a company she’d built up from the bottom up all on her own. 

_No one_ has that kind of life, she may be privileged but she wasn’t oblivious to that fact that she’d lived a life of luxuries that most people didn’t have the chance to ever even get a taste of what she called normal. She’d been living in small percentages her whole life, so it was only fitting that she was going to fit into the six percent of Doctor Scorpio’s patients that couldn’t achieve pregnancy without some sort of alternative route or not even being able to do it at all. 

And then there’s Liam. 

How many people could truly say they’d found _the one_ who they were mean to be with? Who’d stick by your side no matter what, who’d accept you through your best and your worst, who’d still hold your hand even when you weren’t being the best person you could be? 

She’d put money on the fact that, that was also a low percentage of people, too. 

She brings the glass bottle with her up to her office, nursing it like she’d drink her cup of coffee in the morning, but instead of caffeine making her feel more away, the alcohol content in the scotch quickly starts to blur her vision. Fallon does her best to focus on some emails from home, because she wasn’t stupid enough to try to drive into the office in her current state, but she responds to maybe three before the words become hazy and start blurring together. The screen becomes impossible to focus on, so she lifts herself up from the leather seat before making her way up the stairs to her bedroom. 

She moves the bottle to her mouth again and takes another large swig, just about emptying the bottle that started at the half way point at the time she’d started working on the bottle an hour ago. She lets the liquid slide down her throat as the drink does its work in numbing anything she was feeling. But that’s when she feels something else - the nausea that hits her like a brick, so quick and so very hard. The way her stomach starts to feel so uneasy, a familiar feeling she’s felt too many times to count. 

She rushes to the bathroom and it only takes a moment for her to start emptying the contents of her stomach as she leans over the toilet, the high concentration of alcohol in her stomach too much for her small body to handle. When she feels a semblance of normal again, she pushes herself up as best she can and flushes everything her body just retched up away. The bitter taste in her mouth is anything but pleasant, so as she moves her way towards her bed, she gulps down the last of the bottle to rid that sour taste as best she can.

She falls against her sheets, bottle still gripped tight in her hand, as her world starts to turn black. 

* * *

When he walks into their grandeur home less than about four hours later, he pushes his blue rolling suitcase off to the side of the entryway, calling her name the second his feet touch their hardwood floors.

“Fallon!” 

For a quick moment he wonders if maybe she slipped out of the house and headed to the office to do some work, but based on the words and language Karen used with him only hours ago, he was almost certain she was still in this house drowning away her sorrows. He races his way up the stairs, holding tight to the railing for balance as he jumps two or three steps with his ascent to their second floor. 

“Fallon! What the hell are you doing?”

He stumbles into their bedroom first, distraught at the sight he walks into. Because there’s his wife, sprawled out against their white comforter still in her pajamas; her eyes are completely shut and she is _definitely_ passed out. And then that’s when he see’s exactly why she’s in her current state: an empty bottle of Macallan in her grasp, her cradling it in her arm while her other arm his hanging over the edge of the mattress.

“Fallon!” He rushes to her, cupping her face with his hands as he gently tries to coax her to consciousness. He can see her chest rising and falling slowly and evenly, so he at least knows she’s alive. “Fallon. Hey, hey. C’mon, babe, wake up. Please, wake up.”

She stirs at his touch, flinching and trying to wiggle her way out of his grasp when he hears her first mumbles, “What the hell?”

“Fallon,” he breaths a sigh of relief out when he hears her voice escape her lips. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on with you?”

Her eyes widen in realization when she sees him staring into her eyes. She tries to push herself further back into the bed, and he sees the way she grips at the bottle when it starts to fall out of her grasp. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in New York?”

“Not really the issue at hand right now, wouldn’t you say,” he nods his head in the direction of the empty glass bottle she’s still holding, watching as her eyes follow with him. He sees the small, split second glaze in her eyes, the speck of sadness and regret and disappointment in herself; she rids of it fast, the cold exterior and shell she was putting on in full blown effect again, but he saw it and he knows she’s close to cracking. 

“She ratted me out, didn’t she?” The empty bottle in her hands is set against her nightstand as she crosses her arms across her chest. “That bitch. She’s done with us, I’ll tell you that much.”

“You’re not firing our house keeper because you’re out of your damn mind,” he says, frustration bubbling beneath his surface. “That’s not how that works.”

“She had _no_ right to go to you like she did,” she seethes. “I was handling it!”

“Yeah, super well, too, from what I can tell,” he rolls his eyes, pacing back and forth against the oak floors. “Fallon, you’re passed out drunk at 10:30am with an empty bottle of scotch in your hand.”

“Like I said, I was handling it.”

“Drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t _handling_ it, Fallon,” his voice starts to raise in volume, which is not in his nature. He’s not an angry guy, but his wife just _isn’t_ getting it, and with every look in her direction, he feels the frustration building up and up and up. “I thought we were passed all this childish behavior.”

“Well,” she drawls. “It looks like you thought wrong, Liam.”

He looks at her sitting on their bed with his mouth agape, trying to process the words she was saying. He didn’t even think _she_ knew what she was saying, and that was probably evident by the fact she’d drank a whole bottle of Macallan at this hour, but he couldn’t comprehend where this was all coming from. And seemingly out of nowhere, too. “What the hell is going on with you, Fallon?”

“Nothing, Liam!” She stands up on her feet finally, but she’s barely stable as she wobbles when she hits the ground. “Just let it go.”

“I let it go the last few days when I’d asked you if you were doing okay because I decided to _trust_ my wife when she said it was stress from work,” he says. “But you blew that when I got a call that you’ve been spiking your coffee every morning for the past three days straight. So, what gives?”

She shakes her head back and forth, starting to push herself towards the door, fully ready to walk away from him. “I’m not doing this.”

“Like hell you’re not,” he says, grabbing at her upper arm, gently as always, but stopping her in her tracks so she had nowhere to go. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I need another drink,” her body spins around, reaching for her drawer behind him. “I have a headache.”

“Wonder why,” he hums, vexation building more and more with her. “Could it be because you’re drunk beyond belief before eleven in the morning?” Her hands falls into the drawer, pulling out a nip of vodka from inside. “I don’t think so,” he says, stepping in front of her to pull out the contents inside - two more nips of vodka and her canteen which he didn’t even want to know what was inside that container right now “Let me see this right here.”

“Liam! No!” She yelps when she seems him pull out the three items, stepping around her and heading into their ensuite. He uncaps the two smaller bottles before letting the clear liquid circle the drain, disappearing out of their sight completely. “Stop!”

“Where’s the rest of it? Where are you hiding it?” He tosses the empty plastic bottles onto the counter top haphazardly; he doesn’t care where the end up right now, he just cares where the rest of her stash is and he just _knows_ there is one. “Fallon, I swear if you don’t tell me where the rest of it is, I won’t hesitate to bring you to rehab.”

“It’s in my drawer of toiletries,” she mutters the words sadly, staring down at her bare feet against their white tiled floor. Her facade starts to fall around her like a waterfall, her true exterior shining through. There’s a sadness in her voice now, not as strong, not as harsh when she she whispers those words. There’s a glossy glaze over her blue eyes, tears building behind that cerulean shade and he just knows - she’s cracking under the pressure. 

He stumbles in that direction, and she follows him with her soft cries behind him. He pulls the small drawer open to find another bottle of Macallan resting comfortably amongst a pile of tampons and makeup wipes. “Seriously, Fallon?”

He screws the cap unlocked, pouring the dark amber color down the drain as more and more liquid falls from the bottle into the sink. When it’s empty, he looks over at her, a few stray tears escaping the corner of her eyes as she stands by his side silently when he thinks finally, _finally, his_ Fallon is back. Not the Fallon who drowns away her sorrows and numbs her pain away for a week straight.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” His voice softens with that sentence, but when she doesn’t reply his harsher tone returns. “We can always head to the wine cellar and start emptying those bottles one by one if you’d prefer that?”

“It’s not like it matters anyways,” she mutters, left hand running against her cheek to no doubt wipe away the evidence of any tears. “It’s better for you this way.”

“Fallon,” he says through gritted teeth. “You better start talking cause I’m not kidding about getting you help.”

“I found out I can’t have kids, okay?!”


	2. this ain't a game, nobody wins

“What?”

She looks down at her feet, biting her lower lip as all the anxiety in her rushed to the surface, her skin turning warm as it boiled beneath her. It was out there now, he knew the truth and there was no going back. This was her reality and she needed to accept it, no matter how much it hurt. “I can’t have kids, Liam.”

“Fal,” he says, and she watches as he tries to extend his hand out towards her face, but she flinches away from his touch, pushing herself backwards from him. She doesn’t like the feeling - moving away from him, when all she craves is his arms around her, holding her close and telling her everything was going to be okay. His eyes fall when she pulls back at his arm moving closer to her, sadness looming in those blue eyes she adored so much. She knows it’s because he’s going to blame himself for everything, for not seeing more signs in the way she was acting, for not figuring out that she was falling apart inside, for not being there for her when she clearly needed him most. 

“And you don’t want children anyways so, I figured, why even bother telling you?” She sits on the edge of their bed, and she notices he’s careful to not move closer to her this time, waiting for _her_ okay to come and pull her into his arms. “It’s not like you care if I can have kids or not.”

“Fallon, are you serious?” His feet move forward a step before he looks at her, questioning the action by raising his eyebrows up. When she makes a curt nod of her head, he makes the final leap towards her, sitting right at her side on the bed, their thighs touching together against the comforter. “Of course, I care, Fallon. I’m your _husband,_ and I’m going to be here for you through everything, okay?”

There’s a sense of relief that she can be herself with him again, finally not hiding any secrets; even if she did put herself in that position in the first place by deciding to not tell him the truth, by choosing to just drown her pain in whatever bottle of alcohol she could get her hands on for the day. As much as it worked, as much as it did numb the pain, it didn’t compare to having this man beside her tell her everything would be okay. Somehow, that made her feel more whole than she had felt in the last week. 

“I can’t even believe you thought I wouldn’t care about this. You’re my whole world, Fallon. If I don’t have you, I don’t have anything,” he says, and as soon as he breaths the words out, she lets herself lean against him, nestling her head into the crevice of his neck. “Why have you been making yourself go through this alone?”

“I just…” She trails off, his fingers tangling themselves between her small, pale ones when he hears her struggle to find the words. “You didn’t want them anyways so it seemed like a pointless conversation to have.”

“What happened for this to come on, Fal?” His thumb rubs against her hand in soothing circles She still feels the alcohol in her system, but he’s helping simply by being there with her. “What was going on? What did you find out?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I was just feeling a _lot_ more crampy than usual. And sex was even painful, and it never was before.” She pulls back from his warmth to find his eyes, warm and inviting and calming all at the same time. “I finally made an appointment with my gynecologist and Doctor Scorpio told me it was adenomyosis.”

“Adenomyosis?” 

“Yeah, something where the lining of my uterus breaks through my muscle walls,” she explains as best as she can from the words her doctor gave her. “I don’t know exactly, I kind of zoned out if I’m being honest. It was a lot to have thrown at me at once.”

His thumb moves easily against her cheekbone and she allows herself to push herself against the palm of his hand, letting the weight of her head fall against him. His voice is soft when he speaks again, “When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t,” she breaths back to him in barely a whisper.

“You weren’t going to tell me what was happening?” He’s hurt when he speaks, she can hear it in the way his voice cracks on certain words and it nearly breaks her. She never wanted Liam to be sad or hurt or upset - but she caused this herself and she had to claim responsibility for the fact that this was her doing. “You weren’t going to tell me anything was wrong?”

“It…just felt stupid to have that conversation again when I already knew where you stood on the topic of children,” she explains. “I didn’t need to sit there and hear you tell me you didn’t want them again, or that this was just because it was meant to be this way.”

“Fallon, I would never, ever say that to you,” he holds both sides of her face in his hands, forcing him to look at him, forcing her to be vulnerable “I would _never_ do that, you have to know that.”

“I do know that, Liam,” she brings her hand up to grab onto his, still holding her face securely in his hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, obviously. I see that now,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why but when she said those words, I was back to being insecure and terrified that I wouldn’t be accepted for who I was. I don’t know why I reverted back to that dark place, but I did,” her eyes fall down away from his. “It was just easier, I guess."

“I’m _shattered_ that you think I wouldn’t have cared about this, Fal,” he strokes her cheek gently, leaning in to press a kiss against her forehead that she’d been craving for days now. “I love you and you don’t need to go through any of this on your own, okay? I’m here for you and we’re gonna figure this out together.”

“I know. I _know_. It’s just…choosing to not have children and being told you _can’t_ because of your own body is a totally different reality,” she says. “I can deal with it being my choice,” she pauses a moment, looking in his eyes to find the strength she needs to keep going. “But, having that choice ripped away from me?” Fallon doesn’t try to hide the emotion she’d been keeping bottled up for the past week anymore, she lets the tears fall freely and his hand immediately wipes them away as soon as they fall from the corner of her eyes. “It’s completely different, Liam.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how you’ve been feeling, but I can tell you that you’re not going to be alone anymore.” His thumb leads her chin up again, the tears sparkling in his eyes match the ones already falling from her own iris’. “But, no more drinking, okay?”

She feels her lips curve upward into a smile for the first time in a long time. “I’m sorry I turned to the bottle again,” she says. “It just made everything numb and being numb felt better than being sad and hopeless.” She hates the next realization that comes to her, as she scoots herself out of his grasp and pushes her back against their headboard. “Maybe I really am just like my parents.”

“We don’t need to talk about that right now,” he says, following suit and coming to her side. “For now, I’d very much like to curl up in that bed with you and hold you close while you take a nap,” he smiles at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and forcing her gaze back to him. “Because you my love, are still very, very drunk.”

“Okay,” she whispers, curling up against his chest underneath the covers. He makes sure to pull her as close as possible and keeps his hold against her waist as tight as he can. He lets his lips linger against the top of her head as she lets herself sink even further into his warmth. “I love you, Liam.”

“I love you, Fallon,” she hears as she stars to slip into unconsciousness. The scent of his cologne and the warmth of his neck that her forehead is tucked into, lulling her to sleep like a simple lullaby. “Always.”

* * *

It only takes minutes for her to fall asleep in his arms, tucked comfortably against his side, and as exhausted as he was from barely sleeping and an early morning flight back home - he can’t sleep knowing the hell she’d been putting her own self through for the past week. Or however long she’d been keeping this a secret. The only think he can think about is how lonely she must have felt trapped in that head of hers. All alone, with no one to turn to, no one to talk to, only taking solace in the way an expensive bottle of liquor could make her feel. 

And Jesus Christ, he _hated_ how good at lying she was when she wanted to be. He could see right through her, truly, he could, but if she wanted to put a mask on, she’d do it and she’d do it damn well. He’s kind of resentful with himself for being so busy with his own work to not notice the empty look in her eyes, which was so clear and so visible the minute she opened her eyes only twenty minutes ago when he got home. They were…bare, void of any life or happiness and he was going to do everything in his power to take that feeling away from her. 

But he should have _known_. He should have _seen_ the emptiness behind her cerulean eyes. He should have seen how lonely and how dark of a place she was in. 

But she didn’t want him to, so she’d hid it - and he _missed_ it all. 

All the hints and all the signs blew right by him like an easy breeze. 

But he can’t focus on that right now, he can’t focus on feeling sorry for himself or blaming himself for missing the signs because there was more important things to worry about right now. 

_Fallon._

As much as he’d like to get a nap in with her, he just knows sleep won’t be coming until he gets a full picture of the condition she’d just told him. He feels his phone still in his pocket, thankful he hadn’t pulled it out yet, so he slips his hand under the covers to pull it out of his front pocket to start doing some research. 

Liam pulls up his Safari app, heading to Google straight away before typing in the name of the condition she’d give him: adenomyosis. He pulls up the article from Mayo Clinic, the first one that appears, scrolling through and making as much sense as he can from the medical terms thrown in throughout the document. 

And what she told him seemed to be right, so maybe she was listening to her doctor somewhat. Because it did seem to be that tissue that would typically line her uterus, would grow into the muscle walls of her uterus. That that tissue would still thicken and expand during her monthly cycles, which could cause painful cramping and pain during sex - both of which she’d just told him she was experiencing. He also finds that that this condition was more popular in older women, and while not impossible for someone Fallon’s age to be prone to this condition, she was definitely in the minority to be diagnosed with this condition at the age of 31. 

He’s just not seeing anything directly in this article even relating to pregnancy in the slightest, so he switches gears and heads back to the search engine to add the particular word to the end of his search before hitting enter. He clicks the first few links that pop up, but nothing in either of those articles really answers any of the questions he has regarding the link between this condition and pregnancy. 

He finds another site a few inches down the page, clicking and finding the most information out of any other article he’s found so far. And what he finds doesn’t completely line up with what she told him. Because, yes, while adenomyosis was linked to cases of infertility and cases of struggling to conceive by natural means, there was no indication that the choice had been ripped away from her completely. In fact, all the statistics he was looking at seemed so high in their favor that kids would absolutely be possible for them one day. He can’t believe she’d gotten so into her head and had convinced herself it wasn’t even possible.

Liam tosses his phone to the side, trying to let all the information he’d just read settle into his mind before taking in anymore and overwhelming himself, or better yet, overwhelming the girl still wrapped in his embrace. He looks down at her, the way her arm drapes against his stomach, her head tucked in tightly into the crevice of his nice. Her breathing is even and steady and he hopes that the calmness radiating off her now is how she feels inside, but he knows that’s not the case. 

This wasn’t going to be a simple case of Fallon waking up and everything returning to normal. 

He pulls her in closer to his body, tugging her flesh against his chest; his free hand finds hers, the one from the arm thrown over his stomach lazily, tangling their fingers together tightly. He presses a kiss to the top of her head before letting himself finally succumb to sleep, too. 

* * *

The first thing she notices when she wakes up is that it’s no longer light outside, which bares the question of _how long did she sleep?_ But she stops questioning that quickly as soon as she feels the throbbing pain in her head, so bad that it makes her wince when she tries to sit herself up. She pushes her hands directly to her eyes in an effort to stop the pain shooting through her head, but it’s useless, she knows that. She’d drank herself into oblivion and the now sober part of herself knew she was going to be paying that price for a few days to come. 

She pushes through the pain to reach for her iPhone that she always left on the nightstand to her right, but it wasn’t there and she couldn’t even begin to think where it could even be. She could figure that out later, but what does catch her eye is the glass of water, bottle of Tylenol, and the little pink notecard with her husbands scrawl all over it. 

_Good evening, my love._

Corny as always she sees, that husband of hers. Her eyes roll at the words but she can’t help but smile nonetheless at how thoughtful and considerate he always was. She may make fun of him for this stuff constantly, but she adored it. And he knew she did, too. 

_I’m sure that headache you’ve got going is anything but pleasant so, please, take two of these painkillers and drink the whole glass of water. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. And when you’ve done both of those things, I’ll be downstairs and I’d love if you would join me._

_I love you._

After she swallow the pills per husbands direction, she leaves the semi-full glass of water on her nightstand before descending her way down the stairs. Her feet hit each wooden step, cold against her bare feet until she reached the foyer, hearing all kinds of noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. She follows the sounds of pots and pans and the smell of hot oil down the hall, finding her husband leaning over the stove with a spatula in his hand and their cast iron skillet above a burning flame. 

“Liam?”

His body jumps at the sound of her voice, spinning around to find her there in the black pajama set she’d been in since last night. “Fallon.”

“Hi,” she mutters shyly, keeping her distance.

He turns the flame off, moving the pan off of the burner, “Good evening, my sleeping beauty!”

“You’re in a good mood,” she smiles at him, coming up to his side and lifting herself up to sit herself on the quartz countertop. “Where’s the staff?”

“I sent them home for the day,” he says, coming up between her legs, pushing his lips against hers in a kiss, which she happily welcomes. She lets the pressure of his mouth on hers linger for a moment before he pulls away. “I thought we could use some time to ourselves.”

She nods, eyes closing at those words, because _that_ was all her fault. “Yeah.”

“I made you some dinner, though,” he says, shifting back to the stove. He reaches above into the frosted glass cabinet, grabbing two ceramic white plates from inside. Liam opens the oven next, pulling out a pan that held two toasted brioche buns on it. 

Liam’s plating one of the burgers on the bottom bun when she feels herself start to become overwhelmed; because she didn’t deserve this, not even in the slightest. She’d taken a medical prognosis, started drinking to numb the pain, and made her husband come home early from an incredibly important work trip because she’d been drinking _so_ much their _housekeeper_ noticed it. 

She feels herself start to choke on her own tears, far beyond the point of trying to hide how she feels now. It was all out in the open, there was no use in trying to deny the hurt she was feeling. Liam knew and Liam wouldn’t be letting her take a sip of alcohol for what she can only assume will be a very long time, so she was stuck with letting herself feel again, being vulnerable and not hiding behind a bottle of scotch. And…it was _Liam;_ he wasn’t going to judge her or hold anything against her - he was just going to hold her hand and make sure she was okay.

He must hear her sniffles, because not even thirty seconds later he’s back at her side, taking her into his arms. “Fallon. Hey, hey, hey.”

“I just feel so stupid,” she says wiping away angrily at the tears that escaped with the back of her hand. 

“No, no, no,” he says softly, cupping her face with his hands. “Don’t feel stupid, okay? Please don’t. It’s not stupid at all, Fal.”

“I ruined your trip, a…and your book,” she stutters her way through her words, emotions choking her up. “I fucked up, Liam. I’m sorry,” she leans her head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the way his arms fall around her. “Maybe I really am just like my parents,” she trails off sadly. “Maybe I was doomed to be an alcoholic just like them since the day I was born. And if I’m so much like them then it’s probably a good thing I can’t have kids because I’d just screw them up anyways.”

“No,” he pulls away from and grasps at the side of her face again in the most gentle of touches. “You were not destined to be like your parents and we’re not even entertaining that idea because you are _not_ your parents, okay? You’re not,” he mutters firmly, keeping her face still in his hands so she couldn’t look anywhere but directly into his eyes. The warmth and love staring back at her lets her know he means every word with absolute sincerity. “You’re already so much more than the person your parents are. You know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because I love you,” he breathes out easily. “And I’ve seen you grow so much over the last five years, trying to be the best version of yourself you can be. You went from being someone who cared only about herself, to someone who cared about what others are going through, too.”

“Yeah, but you helped me,” she counters his words. “You inspired me to be better.”

“Maybe so. But I only inspired you.” She feels his lips press against the crown of her head. “You put in all the work.” The only thing she can do is nod against his grasp, unable to find any words to mutter back at him. The only thing she can do is grab at one of his hands still cupping her face. “Look, let me get our dinner on the plates, okay? I’d feel better knowing you were getting some food into you,” he says. “I made you homemade fries, even. You love my homemade fries.”

“I do love your fries,” she nods against him. “And I smell bacon, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” he smiles, hands dropping from her cheeks and helping her jump down from the countertop. “I’m surprised those weren’t the first words out of your mouth when you walked down here.”

“I know. I must be off my game."

“We don’t need to do this all tonight, okay? You’ve had a hell of a day and I can’t imagine how bad your head is throbbing. You’ve been consuming yourself with this all week, it’s okay if you want to take a day off and we can talk more tomorrow.”

“I kind of just want to talk it out now,” she says watching him finish up their meals on the white plates. He sets them both down at their kitchen island and she sits to the left of him on a barstool. She squirts some ketchup near her fries, letting herself relish in how delicious they tasted.

“Good?”

“So good.”

“I think we should wait to talk until morning, babe,” he continues. “When your head isn’t pounding and we can go at this with clear heads. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

“You’re right,” she nods. “I hate when you’re right.”

She loves the sound of his laugh that echoes the kitchen, the shining glimmer of hope that glows against the blue shade of his eyes, the first time she’s seen that shimmer in his eyes all day. “Eat. Then bed. Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

“Good morning,” he mutters when he sees her start to stir awake, despite her eyes still remaining completely shut. He watches on, tangling his fingers in her locks trying to coax her awake, watching as her eyelids flutter against the bright Georgia sun until they finally open completely. 

“Good morning,” she returns the smile back to him just as easily, her eyes finding his she looks up at him, his head resting in his hand perched up by his elbow. 

“How are you feeling?” Liam pulls her hand up from under the covers, guiding it to his lips as he kisses the back of her palm, keeping her hand close to his face as he holds it tightly. “Any better today?”

“Okay, I guess,” she shrugs against her pillow. “Better that the truth is out there.”

“And the headache?”

“All gone,” she says, proud as ever. “I am a Carrington, Liam. We can handle our hangovers.”

“You’re a Ridley, Fallon,” he feels his mouth slip into a straight line at her words. But despite that, he’s honestly just happy that she’s smiling, making jokes like the Fallon he knows and loves would do; it’s not all better by any means, but if she can laugh only twenty-four hours later, he sees that as a sign of hope.

Fallon’s hand appears from underneath the sheets, grabbing at the back of his head and pulling him down to her. “Well, if you want to be technical,” she mutters before her lips crash against his. 

They get lost in each other for a moment, lips moving against each other softly and easily and lazily, a steady pace between the two of them that neither have the desire to break until he pulls away for some air. He lets his head fall on her pillow, pushing himself against her body as closely as he can, feeling her warmth radiate off against her. The air between them is lighter than it was yesterday, he’s glad for that, because it at least meant she was letting him in now; the walls weren’t coming up again this morning and that was enough of a sign that she was in a slightly better place. 

Fallon’s voice breaks the comfortable silence with, “I still feel like an idiot.”

“I don’t want you to feel that way, babe,” he mutters the word against the skin of her neck, head tucked against her shoulder. “It happened. It’s done with and we’re only moving forward with positivity, okay?” Liam lets his arm come around and drape itself across her stomach, pulling her closer if that was even possible. “We’re gonna get some answers, and we’re gonna get through this. Together.”

“You really don’t think I’m destined to be like my parents?”

“God, no.” He feels her nod against him, but he can feel it that she still isn’t completely believing him. “Fallon, you need to believe me when I tell you you aren’t destined for the same fate your parents have. You know how I know that?” 

“How?” She whispers the word so softly, reaching for his hand to tangle their fingers together.

“Because you are going to do everything in your power to make sure you don’t have suffer the same fate as them,” he says. “You want to be better so you’re going to be. It’s as simple as that.”

Fallon only nods into him, turning to face him and trying to push herself further into his arms. “Okay.”

“So, I did do some research on your prognosis yesterday,” he begins, a slight turn in direction. It’s not that he wants to bring it up again, he’d very much be happy to move forward and pretend that none of this ever happened. That his wife didn’t go through this and had been feeling so empty and alone for days; so much so that she’d had to turn to alcohol again. But, they couldn’t do that. They had to talk it out and work it out and find out how to move forward knowing Fallon had another complication to live with now. “You told me you couldn’t have children, Fal. As if it was a means to and end. But, it’s not, babe.”

She doesn’t speak for a few moments until he hears, “It’s just…”

“What is it, Fal?” His voice is soft and gentle when he speaks. “You can tell me.”

“It’s just that I’ve spent my whole life in small percentages,” she starts with a small voice. “What are the odds of being born to a family of billionaires? What are the odds of becoming a billionaire by the age of 20? What are the odds of being CEO of your own company by 26?” With each statistic she lays out for him, her voice gets slightly louder in tone and slightly faster in speed. “I’m sure I’m destined to be in that small percentage of people who have the worst case scenario of this condition, too. It’s only fitting.”

“You can’t think like that, Fal,” he says. He pulls his body away from her so he can look her in the eyes again. “That’s not how that works.”

“I don’t know, Liam,” she sounds defeated when she lets the words out. “It just seemed easier to expect the worse now rather than get my hopes up and be told in a few years it’s not even possible.” 

“Should we make an appointment with your Doctor so we can discuss it further with her?” He finds her hand against the sheets again, lacing their fingers together loosely. “I can do all the research in the world but I don’t think Google is going to help me as much as a medical professional will.”

“I mean, she already told me everything,” she says to him. “But if you want to go with me, okay. Yeah, sure, we can go back to get more information, if there is any.”

“What if we went to another physician then?”

Liam sees the puzzled look in her eyes at his last statement. “What do you mean?”

“I found a doctor in Boston. She’s one of the best in the country who specializes in this condition along with a few others,” he says. “We could head up there and make an appointment with her if you wanted to get a second opinion.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.” His words are so strong, he means them with absolutely sincerity and he only hopes she can feel that, too. “I know we might know where we both sit on the topic of a family in the future, but I do know I’ll do anything for you to get some closure on this.:

“Okay,” she says. “Yeah, let’s go to Boston.”

* * *

“Mrs. Ridley,” she hears from the tall figure that enters the room. “Mr. Ridley,” the voice nods in her husbands direction. She slides up to both her and her husband, shaking their hands before sitting down at the chair near the computer. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Doctor Britt Westbourne.”

“Hi,” Fallon responds meekly. “I’m Fallon, this is my husband, Liam.”

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both face to face after speaking with your husband on the phone the other day,” she says, bright and clear and fully confident in herself, immediately putting Fallon at ease in her ability to give her information that was accurate. “It seems to me you’ve been diagnosed with a condition that we call adenomyosis by your gynecologist back in Atlanta?”

“That would be correct,” Fallon responds, a slight ache in her voice that she knew Liam wouldn’t miss. 

“Alright, well, what can I do for you two here today?” Doctor Westbourne looks at them both with rapt attention, completely giving them her ear to answer any and all questions either of them might have. “How can I help and make things more clear or easier to understand?”

“We really were just interested in a second opinion,” Liam speaks up. She’s grateful, because as hopeful as she was trying to feel, she was still terrified of some of the things she could be told today. “Maybe from someone who specialized in this area more fully than her GYN back home would be aware of.”

“Of course.” The doctor turns to the Mac that’s sitting to her left, clicking around a few times before turning back to them. “So, Robin, Doctor Scorpio, did email me over your scans from your MRI to put into our system. From that MRI, and the ultrasound she did for you, she was correct in her diagnosis. I know you were probably hoping to hear different from me, but I can’t dispute what I’m looking at in the imaging scans.”

Fallon feels her heart sink at the words, despite knowing she wasn’t getting a different prognosis today, she can’t deny that that’s exactly what she was hoping for. That by some miracle another doctor would look at her scans and tell her that the original diagnosis she was given was wrong, and there was nothing actually wrong with her. 

Liam’s voice breaks her train of thoughts, “I guess I just want to know how this will affect her going forward.” 

“Well, the cramping you’ve been experiencing may increase during your monthly cycles. It might even start to dissipate on its own, honestly. A lot of the time it does,” Doctor Westbourne lays out. “But as far as that cramping and slight discomfort goes, I always recommend starting my patients off with some kind of painkiller. Tylenol or an Ibuprofen work great,” she continues. “If that doesn’t seem to be helping, I might look into switching your birth control method, or simply starting you off on a different pill with a different hormone. One of the two usually does the trick in easing symptoms pretty efficiently.”

“And as far as having children in the future would go…” Fallon’s words get softer with each word she speaks, afraid to put the question out into the air, but knowing this was the full reason they were here to begin with - to get some answers.

“I won’t sit her and lie and tell you I’ve had no one experience problems with fertility with this condition. I wouldn’t be doing my job as a doctor by not giving you all the facts,” she says softly. “But I can tell you with completely certainty that the amount of people who have no issues conceiving far outweighs those who do.”

“If I were to start trying for children,” Fallon starts, pausing because as much as she wants to ask the question, she’s kind of afraid for the answers she’s going to get. “How long should I wait until I seek out more help to see if that’s the issue?”

“You’re actually in a more fortunate position here, Mrs. Ridley,” the doctor smiles in her direction. “Because most patients who come in struggling to conceive naturally, aren’t even aware they have this condition yet, so it only eats up the time trying to properly diagnose them before moving forward with a plan.” Doctor Westbourne crosses her legs and leans her weight forward against them. “You already know about this. So, should you have trouble, you come back to me and we can skip all the testing and move straight into looking at IVF and other options as well,” she says with hopeful eyes. “But to answer your question, I’d give it three to six months before you reach out to me again. If you hit that mark with no luck, come see me again and we’ll get you two on the right track.”

She feels Liam’s hand slide over to her thigh and give it a gentle squeeze, the touch making her head turn on reflex to his direction. She finds his eyes there, full of love and warmth; she can see how much he loves her just by looking into those blue orbs, he didn’t even have to say anything - she just knew. 

“Okay,” Fallon mutters.

“Is there any other questions I can answer for you two today or do things seem a little more clear?”

Liam squeezes her hand against her thigh again before she hears his voice, “You made things much more clear, thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Fallon mutters softly, feeling more hopeful about everything for the first time since she’d gotten this diagnosis. “You have no idea…how much this helped me.”

“Of course,” Doctor Westbourne smiles, her bright white teeth flashing with her easy smile. “And I actually do have _good_ news to leave you two with before I let you guys go on your way for the day,” she continues.

Fallon looks at her quizzically. “Oh?”

“The results from your blood work,” she begins with a smile at the corner of her lips. “You _are_ fertile, Mrs. Ridley. So, sure while conceiving could be tricky, infertility is not your concern right now.”

It’s like the dark sky that’d been following her for a week finally cleared, a break in the clouds and the sun finally has a chance to shine down on her. She just hopes it means the storms starting to pass and it’s not a simple break before they close up on her again. 

“There’s really no way to know otherwise if I’ll struggle having a child because of this condition, is there?”

“Unfortunately not.” The confirmation stings, Fallon won’t deny that, regardless of the fact that she already knew the answer before she asked. “I won’t be able to tell you if this prognosis affects anything for you until you two were to start trying. I know it’s not a perfect answer, believe me, but it’s where the medicine stands right now. I’m sure it’ll get there someday,” Doctor Westbourne says with hope. “If it helps, out of everything I see from your scans and bloodwork, I’m pretty hopeful that I won’t see you two in this office ever again.”

* * *

“So, how do you feel?” His hands fall against her calves that are resting against his lap on their private jet, on their way back to Atlanta. His thumb grazes over her bare skin just below her knee, trying to provide her all the comfort and reassurance she may have needed. “Did that help? Do things seem a little clearer now?”

“Yeah,” she sighs quietly. “I think so.”

“Good,” he says. Liam holds his hand out in her direction and she happily accepts, letting him pull her weight up from her comfortable position against the pillow she was using, her weight now falling against his chest as she snuggled in close. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“I do.” Their fingers tangle together loosely against them, the air lighter between them than it had been in days. _She_ even feels lighter, she can fee the difference within her; that her head isn’t clouded with as much dread as she’d put in there to begin with, that she was finally letting the sun poke through and see things other than the negative. “Thank you for flying to Boston with me for some answers. I still can’t believe that I’m lucky enough to have you in my life.”

“I would do anything for you, Fallon.” Liam brings his right arm up and around her, resting it over her shoulder from behind. “I don’t just say that to say it. When I say it, I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He feels her scoot closer, her forehead nestling itself in the crevice of his neck. “I hope you know I’d do the same for you, too.”

“I do,” he says. “Don’t doubt for a second that I don’t know that.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, happy to just curl up in each others embrace in their jet that always seemed to run fairly cool. He feels his eyes start to flutter shut, the early morning flight time starting to catch up with him; the past few days they’d lived no doubt also starting to take a toll on him, as he’d barely slept the past two nights - more worried about her than his own health. And as much as he’s trying to not blame himself for missing the signs, he still does; he’s her _husband and_ he should have known. He should have pushed her harder for the truth, but she _had_ been busy at work and she _did_ get stressed when things got a little hectic. 

He still wishes he did more, still wishes he caught the pain behind her eyes. 

But she did a damn good job at building Potemkin villages when she wanted to.

“So how do you feel, really?” He asks, letting his thumb graze against the skin of her arm. “Do you feel like you have more closure after this?”

“I mean…kinda?” It’s more of a question than a statement, which isn’t the response he was hoping for. “But…you heard her, Liam,” she keeps going softly. Fallon drops their tangled fingers, lifting her head up off his chest to find his eyes. “I’m never going to know if I can actually have kids or not unless we start trying.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Liam lifts his hand up to cup her face, softly rubbing his thumb against her cheek, hoping it brought her any sort of comfort. “I wish there was more they could do, too, babe.”

“There’s just no way to get answers until we start trying,” sighs loudly, a sadness looming in her eyes that he didn’t like one bit. The thought of his wife feeling this hopeless because her body decided it wanted to rip this decision from her broke his heart. It broke his heart even more that he couldn’t even do anything to fix it, all he could do was hold her close and whisper sweet nothings into her ear reminding her that he was going to be here for her through this entire process. “If that ever happens that is.”

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly. 

“And that _sucks_ because it could be years before we decide to possibly start a family and it sucks that I have to live with that uncertainty.” There’s an anger in her voice, but not with him, it’s with this new reality she had to live in. “Or we could decide to not have kids at all and maybe I’ll never be able to get that answer.”

“Fallon,” he starts. “Why don’t you just toss your birth control out then?” His own words take him by surprise, he wasn’t sure where it came from if he’s being honest; they sort of just slipped out. But when he takes a minute to process what he actually just said and sees the shock in her eyes take over, he realizes he means it with every fiber of his being. 

Her legs swing off of his lap quick, her feet hitting the ground, eyes wide as she stares back at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” he confirms again, no hesitation laced into his voice at all, shocking himself just as much as he does her. “If we can’t know for sure until we start trying, stop taking them. If that’s the only way to get answers, then we should do just that.”

“Liam. No.” Her head moves from left to right, a small laugh bellowing out of her, but not out of humor, it’s out of disbelief. “We’re not even close to ready for a kid,” she confirms. “And I’m pretty sure the last time we talked about this all, you didn’t even want to be a father.”

“No, we’re not ready. You’re right,” he confirms back to her. “But, who’s to say I haven’t thought about it since we last talked? Who’s to say I haven’t started thinking that maybe, just maybe, having a family with you is something I’d actually want?”

“But, then I’d feel like you’re doing it just for me and not because you actually _want_ a family,” she mutters back to him. “I don’t want to bring a child into this world for those reasons, Liam.”

“You do know the last time we talked about kids was five years ago, right?” He lets his hand come up to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, with the sudden urge to pull her close again. “Who’s to say I haven’t changed my mind?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, some anger building up with her tone; he assumes it’s with the situation more so than with him. “I just assumed that you still stood where you stood five years ago since you haven’t brought it up since.”

“I mean,” he laughs lightly. “You haven’t brought it up either.”

“Well, fine.” She sinks back into the opposite side of the couch, back against her pillow. “Do you wanna talk? Talk.”

“Okay, we’re _talking_ ,” he says. “No need to get defensive.”

“Sorry,” she says, eyes falling to her lap. When she looks back up at him, she’s calmer again. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I know that. I know you’re stressed, it’s okay,” he replies. “I just don’t want to see you like this until we do decide we’re ready for a family.”

“Until we decide to have a family?”

“Fallon.” He pushes himself closer to her again against the sofa. “It’s been almost six years since we first brought kids up. And six years ago, yeah, I was terrified and absolutely certain I’d screw up any child up just like my mother screwed me up,” he continues, reaching for her hand which she easily accepts. “But the thing is…I’m not the same person I was then. That was a long time ago. I’d like to think we’ve both done some growing up since then,” he finishes.

“Maybe a little.”

“And I don’t want to let fear of what _could_ go wrong get in the way of something I’d very much like to have with you,” he smiles in her direction, letting their fingers tangle back together. “Can you imagine a mini you and a mini me walking around our home? Something about that thought….it gives me hope, Fallon.”

“God, our kid would be a nightmare if they were anything like me.”

“So, if trying for a kid right now is what gets you the closure you need,” she falls into his arms easily again, head comfortably resting against his chest, right above his steady heartbeat. He lets his hand fall around her back and rest easy against her waist, drawing random patterns on her back with his fingers. “I’m willing to do that.”

“You do know that one of the two outcomes in this master plan of yours is either, I can’t conceive or we wind up with a tiny human at the end of the line, correct?”

“I do,” he confirms.

Her voice is hesitant when she speaks, “And you’d be okay with that?”

“I think I just made that clear that yes,” he says. “Someday, I’m open to having a family with you.”

She falls into a silence again, probably trying to process all he just told her. His head falls against the top of her head, fingers still drawing circles against her back, doing anything in his power to keep her calm and feeling hopeful about her prognosis, trying to keep her somewhat hopeful. He didn’t want to see her fall back into that dark place of hopelessness again; that was a side of her he never wanted to see again. 

“We’re not throwing my birth control away,” she says minutes later, finally breaking the silence and letting the plane’s engine drown out behind them. “Not yet at least.”

“I’m fine if you do.”

“Liam, I just drank myself into oblivion the other day,” she says.” “We’re not ready for kids. We’re not even _close_ to ready for kids.”

“No, but we would figure it out if it happened,” he tells her. “I know we would.”

“We’re not ready,” she states again. “ _I’m_ not ready,” she confirms. “As much as I’d love to have an answer tomorrow, I’m not ready to bring a child into this world on that accord.” She squeezes his hand a little tighter. “If we bring a child into this world it will be because it’s what we _want_ to do and not because we’re trying to find closure with this….hiccup in the road.”

“That’s very mature of you, Mrs. Ridley,” he says with a smile on his face. 

“I guess I have grown up a little bit, too, over the years.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with leaving things as they are right now?” He lets his fingers move underneath her blouse, grazing against the pale bare skin of her waistline. “I don’t want this to consume you like it has,” he says. “I don’t want to wake up and find you spiking your coffee with whiskey again,”

“I mean, I’m not thrilled about it, but I’ll be okay,” she responds, more confident than he’s heard her speak in days. “I _will_ be okay. I’m not going to let something like this ruin everything else I have going for me.”

“And?”

“And,” she drawls off, letting the vowel sound slide off her tongue. “No more drinking to drown my sorrows, I promise.”

“Good,” he says before pressing his lips against her forehead, leaving a soft lingering kiss against her crown.

“And even if we can’t have kids one day, or if we choose not to,” she lets the words linger in the air a moment before continuing. “I at least know I’ll always have one thing I can count on and always by my side.”

“Oh yeah?” He pokes at her side, her squirming in his touch at his grip. “What’s that?

“You.”

* * *

**_Two years later…._ **

“Are you ready?”

“Not really,” she says. “But to be fair, I’m not sure I’ll ever be completely ready.”

“It’s been five minutes,” he replies. “Should we look?”

She reaches for the stick laying against their ensuite counter top, pulling it up into both their view, both their eyes focusing in on the white test she’s holding in her palm. She looks down at it, not fully registering what she’s seeing until she hears the small gasp escape her husband to the left of her. 

Two pink lines.


End file.
